


Kiss of Leather

by chains_archivist



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: BDSM, Boys in Chains, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whip. Naked padawan. 'nuf said?</p><p>By Vermilion Flame</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss of Leather

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).  
> \--  
> Category: BDSM, but relatively mild (I think)   
> Summary: Whip. Naked padawan. 'nuf said?   
> Feedback: Yes, please! On list or off, doesn't matter to me.   
> Note: I wrote this as a self-challenge to do something *different* than my usual. Did it work?

The padawan lay on the rumpled bed, naked and aroused. He passed the long strip of leather across his chest, the soft hide tickling as it brushed over the fine hairs. He switched the handle to his right hand and repeated the motion in the opposite direction, schooling himself to patience. His master would be home soon, and then he would have his wish. His master always fulfilled his promises.

A flick of the wrist sent the whip's tail to the foot of the bed, between the padawan's feet. He drew it up slowly, the slip of leather gliding across his bare legs, winding over his cock and across his flat belly like a snake intent on pleasure torture. The young man sighed.

Another interminable Council meeting had taken his master from him. He could envision the scene, his mentor standing straight and tall as he faced the circle of councilors. His countenance would be serene as he endured yet more inanities. His voice would be calm as he responded to the statements of blind arrogance mouthed by those who supposedly led the Order.

But inside, the padawan knew, his master burned in frustration. Isolated in its high tower, the Council had lost touch with what was truly happening in the Republic. Those who occupied the ring of seats were more concerned with their precious Code than with the advice of the Order's wisest members. His master struggled to enlighten them, but to no avail. More often than not, he departed the Council chambers struggling with emotions entirely unbecoming a Jedi.

The master was usually able to center himself by concentrating on his own personal truth, releasing his tension into the wholeness of the Force. But there were times when the frustration simply grew too great to dismiss. The great man was close to that point now, the padawan knew, which was why he had asked the favor. He wanted to help his mentor, even if only in this small way.

He flipped the tip of the strap to the side of the bed. The whip slithered across his body as he pulled it up to his face, slowly rubbing the hide across his upper lip. One side was rough, the other smooth. It was cool to the touch. He drew the length of it across the tip of his tongue, tasting sweat and desire. Salt and lust, perhaps tinged with blood. His cock twitched.

He remembered the last time. His master had entered their quarters with fists clenched, trying desperately to find his center, but was ultimately unable to let go of the anger. The padawan had quickly retrieved the whip from his room and knelt at his master's feet, head bowed, offering the coil in his upraised hands. His relief and gratitude when the man accepted were profound.

The apprentice looped the pleasure toy over the back of his neck and pulled it slowly, the evocative touch making the fine hairs there stand up straight. As the tip came over his shoulder, he noticed the similarity to the braid. Both were long, thin, and soft. Both were objects of affection, gifts from the master to the apprentice. Both signified deep love and trust.

The padawan fantasized about the events to come. Hands braced against the wall, he would spread his legs and await the sweet kiss of the lash. He would sense his master behind him, balancing the weight of the whip in his callused hand, studying the pose of his naked padawan. The apprentice knew it would be a struggle to keep his breathing even, as he must. The wait always seemed endless. He would be trembling when the first strike finally came, a blessed release from the anticipation.

His master was an artist with the lash, finding the perfect spot time after time, building the hypnotic rhythm until the padawan groaned with the pleasure of it. The snapping bites caught at his soul, sending him soaring in sensual, beautiful pain. He would arch into the strikes as they covered his back, his ass, the tops of his legs. He would fight to keep from thrusting his hard cock into the crackling air. His master didn't approve of such movement, not wanting to risk a misplaced stroke.

Kiss after kiss, leather would meet skin, setting his nerve endings buzzing with the delicious sting. The sounds, he knew, would be intoxicating - the crack of the leather, the slick strike against flesh, and the moan of pleasure, all in perfect cadence with the throbbing of his engorged phallus.

Flying in the ecstasy of love and endorphins, it would take him a minute to realize that the rhythm had slowed and the strikes become softer. At last, he would hear the whip thud softly against the floor. He would remain still, only his chest straining as he struggled to calm his breath. He would be able to sense his master's approach, although he would not hear the soft footsteps. He would steel himself, setting his jaw for what was to come.

Softly, his master's hands would skim over his hypersensitive skin. As always, the padawan knew, it would be tortuous. This was true pain. The gentle touch would glide over his stinging back, wrap around his sides, and perhaps slide down the outsides of his legs. He would not move, biting his lip and clenching his eyes shut as he fought to endure the caress.

This was part of it, he knew, as necessary for his master as the lashing was. The hands would rove over his taut body, mapping it, examining the small changes evoked by the whip. Eventually, they would move up the insides of his legs, over his thighs, and one hand would cup and tease his sac. The padawan would by then be trembling once again.

The apprentice examined the lash, aching to feel its effects, but he would not strike himself. Instead, he stretched the leather strip between his hands, and leaving a short bit of the tail to dangle against his sac, he wound the whip about his cock, coiling it around and around the hard length in an unyielding embrace, until only the bright red tip was exposed. It was tight, and marvelous. He could feel his pulse pounding against the constriction. He closed his eyes and returned to the fantasy.

His master would then step away, finally, putting an end to the agonizing gentleness. If he listened carefully, the padawan would barely be able to hear the rustle of clothing as the big man freed his erection. With swift, sure movements, the master would remove the plug from the padawan's ass, grab hold of his hips, and sink into his body. He would wrap his hand around the young man's phallus and stroke roughly as he thrust. Yes, gods, yes, so good. It would be fast, and harsh and oh, so wonderful.

The padawan pulled roughly on the handle of the whip, jerking his leather-wrapped cock in time with the thrusts of the anticipated taking. Yes, it would be so good. He tugged, groaned, pulled again, thrust his hips upwards. The coils slipped a bit, the roughness of it grating on his skin, fueling his imagination.

With the padawan's hands still against the wall, his master would take his satisfaction, but in the same act, provide it for his lover. They would feel their orgasms build quickly, the connection between them singing with the joy of the gift given and received. They would arch and cry out as they climaxed, the padawan feeling his master's essence deep within him as he spilled himself over the huge hand wrapped around his shaft.

Lying in the big bed, the padawan froze, panting. He'd stopped himself just in time. It wouldn't do for him to come without his master. Carefully, he unwound the leather from his erection, trying to minimize the stimulation. He must be patient.

The outer door to the quarters snicked open, sending the young man scrambling to the floor. He deftly coiled the strap into neat loops, wanting to present a perfect picture for his master when he entered the room. He knelt beside the bed with his forehead touching the mat, arms stretched before him, the lash in his hands. It was only a matter of minutes before he glimpsed the familiar brown boot tips aligned before him.

"My Master," he whispered, and offered up the whip.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a self-challenge to do something *different* than my usual. Did it work?


End file.
